


Second Chance

by loverofgaydragons



Series: Assassination Classroom Redux [1]
Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Character Death, Second Chances, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverofgaydragons/pseuds/loverofgaydragons
Summary: After he dies Korosensei has the chance to relive his life and rectify his past mistakes.
Relationships: Korosensei & Reaper 2.0
Series: Assassination Classroom Redux [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180394
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This work is for fun not profit and I do not own any the Assassination Classroom franchise.

All throughout his life he has had many names and he has had no name at all. When he died, he still had many names, though those were completely different from the ones that had come before. Friend had replaced murderer; teacher had replaced monster. And finally, he had been given a name he could carry in his heart. Unbeatable, unkillable teacher: Korosensei.

He opens his eyes and his first breath in his new life is filled with the sent of night blooming flowers and death. He hadn’t allowed himself, in his first go around, to cherish his memory as much as he had wanted to, but still, he recognizes where and when he is by this particular smell even before his eyes take in the moonlit garden and the dead man at his feet. 

In his former life as The Reaper, this night might have been any of a thousand kills, but now, with age and distance Korosenai can see that this was a defining moment. This is where his life took the turn that would eventually lead to his having a name of his own, but this was also the moment that would lead to his death. Back when he had first made this choice it had been a whim, just an urge that he hadn’t at the time understood came from the depths of his own aching loneliness. Now he can make this choice again, this time knowing what lay ahead of him.

“Wow!” a young voice says and Korosenai turns towards the open French doors before he can prepare himself. He feels as if he has been shot in the gut when looks and he sees the painfully young boy looking up at him with awe and heart wrenching gratitude. The assassin can see now what he could not see back then, his sharp eyes can put together what it means for such a young boy to be so relieved that his own father is dead. It’s not coldness or psychopathy that he sees when he looks with his teacher’s eyes, it is freedom from unspeakable abuse.

Korosenai can see the bruises barely hidden by the sheet that the little boy has covered himself with, even at this distance his still enhanced nose can smell the blood and semen. How could he have ignored this, he wonders as bile threatens to choke him, how could he have completely sublimated the evidence of what vile crimes had been committed here? 

“That was so amazing, Mr. Reaper sir!” the little boy enthused though he made no move to move closer, Korosenai can see the weariness in his posture that belies the innocent passion in his voice, this is a boy who has learned from a very young to keep out of the reach of predators if he can. 

The killer turns away from the still cooling corpse at his feet and crouches down so that he is closer to eyelevel with the boy, he looks so fragile and thin and hurt that it breaks Korosenai's heart and a vicious side of him wishes he had returned at an earlier moment and made sure that his mark had died much slower. None of his sorrow or fury shows on his face though, and his voice is soft but not pitying when he speaks, “Well I aim to please,” he says, he hadn’t said anything the last time, he had just allowed this hurt little boy to chase him until he had collapsed but Korosenai knows he doesn’t have to make those same mistakes again.

Instead, he acknowledges the boy and gives him respect, “I hope this was just as you had envisioned it.” The boy doesn’t know it yet, but what Korosenai is doing now is a horrible breach in killer etiquette, in his last life neither he nor his student had ever acknowledged that the hit where they had met had been put out by the precocious little boy. Hitmen rarely, if at all, interacted with their clients, few had seen the Reaper’s face and lived to speak about it. 

“It was even better,” the little boy rushes to exclaim his face splitting into a vindictive little smile, “He never even saw you coming.”

“Well, of course not,” Korosenai replies in a gently teasing voice “I am the best of the best.”

“Can you teach me how to be the best too?” the little boy asks, his voice wavering for the first time and his eyes falling low as he unconsciously pulls the sheet tighter against his fragile little body. 

Korosenai’s heart twists harshly in his chest and he is glad that this body and this face have no idea how to convey emotion because otherwise he knew he might actually burst into tears of sorrow and rage. It hurt something in him to see his first student so vulnerable, especially because this his first time to see it, which meant that either Korosenai had missed it on his first go around, or worse, his student had never trusted him enough to show it.

He moves before he can think better of it, his teacher honed responses taking over before he can think it through and he jumps down from the balcony railing he had been crouching on so that he can get closer to the boy. But those same instincts make his movements slow and steady instead of the lethal speed that had just killed this boy’s father. He crouches again when he is closer and he reaches a hand slowly to the boy, finally touching his head gently and comfortingly when the child doesn’t flinch away.

“I can teach you,” he says softly matching his voice to the gentle movement of his hand. Korosenai is a thousand times gentler now than he could have ever been in his first life, he knows now how to use touch to show affection and this boy is starving for it. “I can take you away from here if you’d like.”

For one sweet moment the boy leans into the first tender touch he can remember ever receiving, but then he stiffens and backs away. His entire body tensing up expecting a blow or harsh words or worse. His father did not like it when he moved away, and this man, no matter how gently he spoke or how carefully he touched was a killer and the boy expected him to be even harsher.

But the killer only moves out of his personal space and his face doesn’t lose that tender edge. The boy can see that the placid expression is hiding something, but he does not know what it is. The lack of knowledge unnerves him and he hears himself lashing out before he can stop himself, his voice coming out loud and angry, “I’m not weak!” he cries out to the assassin and his dead father, “you don’t have to lie to me or… or pity me!” 

All the emotions he has been suppressing all the screams he has been holding within himself just pour out of his aching body like bile, “I’m not a child!” he screams through his tears, he has never ever been allowed to be a child. He has never known innocence or kindness. And it burns something in his soul that the first time he should experience genuine care should be from a killer.

“I know,” the assassin replies, his voice still soft but not condescending the way most adults speak to the boy, as though he is too young to understand his own mind. “I know you have never gotten to be a child. And I know you would be fine if I left you here since you are your father’s only heir.”

Hearing those words loosen something inside the boy’s chest. He is not helpless or weak. He had found the name of the best assassin and he had figured out how to contact him and how to pay him. He had gotten his own father killed. He wasn’t weak or powerless because tonight he had slain the monster who hid beneath father’s skin. He could stay here; he knew al the levers he could use to be taken seriously in his father’s world of back stabbing social politics and dirty money. One thing his father had been adamant about was that his education in all the workings of his business not be lacking in any way.

“No,” the little voice says and his voice is still trembling with emotion but his conviction is unmistakable, “take me away from this place.” He wants no part of his father’s empire. He refuses to let himself carry on in that vile man’s image. He wants to be something new, something other. He never wants to be in this horrible room or house again.

“Alright,” says the man, he reaches out his had to shake “My name is Korosenai,” he tells the little boy, speaking his full time aloud for the first time since the day he got it, “but you can call me Korosensei.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't understand why no one has written this yet but I was bawling like a baby when the Reaper died and I know that it hurt Korosensei too so I decided to fix it. Might continue in this vein and get Nagisa away from his shitty home situation while I'm at it. We'll see.


End file.
